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Girl clothes. Boy clothes. Money. Birth certificate. Social security card. Toothbrush. Spare glasses. Backup battery. Makeup. Estradiol. Spironolactone.
Estrogen for hormone therapy?
In a day or two, her mother would call Tía Claudia across the Bay to find their stupid son and send him home.
Okay shes trans
Her success, her touch, the effortless, almost inevitable way she pulled genius after genius from thin air, was uncanny, almost supernatural. Little wonder, then, that people began to call her the Queen of Hell.
including Tremon Philippe himself,
???
she heard it—coming not from within that city, but from far across the sea. Coming from, of all places, home.
Perhaps she is supernatural
The Queen of Hell did not hurry.
Also, with Tremon, she needed to be cautious. People had named her the Queen of Hell, but Tremon was a demon, a real one.
“What if I told you that Hell would receive something special to remember me by?” “Would you really expect me to believe that you are risking your existence out of an affection for Hell? “Of course not. But the seventh will be worth the wait—for all of us.”
“For now, I will play along, if only because your past souls have been so well received. But remember—you have been allotted seven times seven years to deliver seven souls. Forty-eight of those years have passed. If you do not free yourself by this time next year, Hell will have no need to remember you, for there you will be—every special day, every special moment, for all eternity.” With that, Tremon Philippe was gone.
777 - ??
“For now, I will play along, if only because your past souls have been so well received. But remember—you have been allotted seven times seven years to deliver seven souls. Forty-eight of those years have passed. If you do not free yourself by this time next year, Hell will have no need to remember you, for there you will be—every special day, every special moment, for all eternity.” With that, Tremon Philippe was gone.
I love an exposition dump
Lan Tran stared out the window. The stars beckoned as they always had. One did not have to be a rocket scientist to make a donut. But that didn’t mean it didn’t help.
Once they left, Lan put the recipe book away. Instead of cooking, she had her crew digitally convert and store two dozen of each type of donut the Thamavuongs had made. These reference donuts would then be quickly and virtually perfectly reproduced by the ship’s replicators. The result? Cake donuts would always be colorful and pretty. Yeast donuts would be invariably golden and soft. No surprises, no worries.
Such a quirky sci-fi element
Here at Starrgate Donut, Lan and her family would safely wait out the fall of the Galactic Empire, continue their work, and live undisturbed, as long as—as Mr. Thamavuong stressed—they gave donuts to the police officers for free.
Okay, so there's Hell and a Galactic Empire
You should act like a boy. You should repent. You should apologize. You should die. But here, all around the music, someone’s teacher wrote: Relax. Keep your fingers open and light. Someone’s teacher wrote: Think of sunshine. You don’t need to rush. Just follow the notes. Trust yourself. Good job!! And there, someone’s teacher had drawn happy faces. And there, someone’s teacher had pasted stars.
Lan had led her family out of an interstellar war zone, across a galaxy, safely to an obscure star system, and even secured this wonderful donut shop.
“I was thinking, it would be a way to help with the rent, you know?” He pushed her down and continued. After he finished, Evan tried to kiss her again. “I don’t know why you’re crying,” he said. “It’s fair trade. Besides, I can only imagine how you paid for that violin.”
I feel ill, and this whole crew sucks its making me seethe. But also, what purpose does this depiction of sexual exploitation and coercion--essentially rape--serve?
First, she smelled the sweet, almost citrusy smell of roast duck. Then the heavier warmth of BBQ pork. Chilis from a hot pot. Oyster sauce being stir-fried into a wok of raised noodles. Salted eggs in rice porridge, fried turnip cakes with diced leeks, ginger and green onion lo mein.
The way she writes about food is just divine
“Just tell me,” Lan asked, “how did you know we escaped the Galactic Empire?” “You mean Vietnam?” “Vietnam?” “Cambodia?” “Wait, what—” Lan tried to cover up her mistake, but it was too late. For Shizuka realized then that the stars she had seen in Lan Tran’s eyes were not figurative. They were real.
She touched her hair and frowned. Had she even showered? The week had been hazy. She remembered that the latest hookup wanted no condom, and she had almost said yes. Probably the next time, she wouldn’t be such a stuck-up bitch, right? The voices in her head were getting louder and louder. Who do you think you are? Freak. Ugly. You’re just another random queer. If you died, no one would care.
The brevity in which she deploys despair is jarring
“Is everything all right? You got quiet all of a sudden.” “Oh, no, no. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” Lan was quiet for the rest of the drive. Finally, Shizuka parked at the Big Donut. “Shall I walk you inside?” “No. You should get this one to bed—and Astrid probably misses you.” “Astrid? My housekeeper?” “Housekeeper?” “Yes, she’s been with me since I left Berlin.” “Oh, good. I mean—” “Have a good night, Lan,” Shizuka said. “You too, Shizuka,” Lan managed to
The dialogue between them is so weird
Due to her deal with Hell, all traces of Miss Satomi’s performances had been erased, and she was forbidden to perform. But since her job was to teach, she had to maintain her skills. Thus, in the privacy of her practice hall, she could play as much as she desired. This meant that, other than Miss Satomi’s chosen students, Astrid was the only person in the world who was able to hear Shizuka Satomi play.
Finally a little explanation! But what kind of deal would she make to make her own talent and performances seemingly nonexistent
Her playing was every bit as rich and nuanced as all the years had made her.
Is she really old? Was that her deal?
She tried not to think about a stranger handling her work outfits and dirty underwear. Instead, she tried to focus on where she was. Beside the bed, there was a dresser, a closet, a vanity, a full-length mirror.
Even though its seemingly an act of kindness, bringing her home in a daze, changing her out of her clothes w/o her consent (she wazs presumably unconscious), opening the door on her in the bathroom after shutting it & not knocking, and then washing her clothes w/o her consent is just further trauma, intrusion, and taking away her agency.
Her eyes were drawn to a black-and-white photograph of a woman—no—a girl. “The Paganini Competition,” Astrid said proudly. “Miss Satomi’s first major win. The picture next to it is from Warsaw—where she broke strings on two instruments and, finally, finished the concerto with a viola.” “Amazing…”
I think she is old!!
“Miss Katrina?” “Y-yes?” “When you think of love, is it somewhere the colors are brighter and everything seems to glow?” Astrid said casually. “With no pain, like your heart is skipping and doing cartwheels?” Katrina looked down. “No, ma’am.” As if someone like her could have a life like that. “Good.” “M-Miss Astrid?” “Good. Because love is so much more than that, isn’t it?” Katrina nodded. That much at least she knew. “And so was the way Shizuka Satomi played. Now, sip your tea, dear, before it gets cold.” “Yes, ma’am!” Miss Astrid smiled. And so did
The dialogue is just so weird!!
Besides, the muesli was wonderful. Miss Astrid had been wonderful. Miss Satomi had been beyond wonderful. But people like this weren’t supposed to be wonderful. Not to people like her. “Why are you being so nice to me?” “Why? Because you are Miss Satomi’s student.” Astrid glanced at Shizuka, then back at the girl. “And she’s been searching a very long time for you.”
This seems sad and manipulative
“Shizuka Satomi! It’s been a long time. Not that time seems to have done anything to you.” He winked.
Is he in on it?
“Ah, I am sure it does…” He nodded back at Katrina. “But if he is really your student, we can give him a very good price on a proper instrument. His parents can pay in installments if they cannot afford the full price up front.”
a lot of misgendering
Most likely by coincidence, it was a half hour later when Helvar Grunfeld’s heart decided to stop. “Wait for it.” Shizuka held her hands to her ears. Katrina looked at her, puzzled, before she heard the noise of an oncoming siren.
Is this somehow within her power?
But Shizuka Satomi had already placed a violin case in front of her. Then she pointed at the boy next to her.
Its interesting how often the author chooses to have tertiary characters misgender Katrina
Why had Katrina even opened her mouth? She hadn’t even told Miss Satomi that she’d moved the sound post, let alone why. She didn’t know how to explain it, anyway. Miss Satomi put her hand on Katrina’s shoulder.
Everything just feels slightly off
All the sounds he remembered were his mother cringing, apologizing, calling herself stupid when lunch wasn’t on time or when that bastard felt the shop was too dusty, too noisy, too empty, too full. Even now, his mother would flinch whenever she heard an unexpected noise, or anyone entered the store. Such things are music, too.
My absolute least favorite trope is abuse
Endplague
What???
She looked at their pseudonyms. That was probably a vet. That was a cop. That name was from a Bible verse. These same people would probably beat her up in the bathroom. But no matter.
Then the door swung open. “Katrina? Is everything all right?” The lock! Of all the stupid things to forget! Katrina looked up, horrified. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Astrid said, and closed the door.
This isnt the first time Astrid has walked in on her, & to have walked in immediately…was she outside the door the whole time?
Had she been daydreaming? No … This was the soundtrack to Axxiom. Yes, Katrina was surrounded by the unmistakable harmonies of physics, chemistry, biology … quarks becoming atoms, atoms becoming molecules, molecules becoming life. And yes, her fingers were moving; there was sound coming from her instrument. Yet how could music sound like this? “When the music is heartfelt, it is even more important to play precisely,” Miss Satomi said. “Yes, eventually you can slide into the note. But the slide must enhance the note, not diminish it. For now, play the notes distinctly.” Miss Satomi’s lead was
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Its hard to put my finger on, but it just doesnt flow well. Simultaneously, a lot is being said without saying much. The dialogue is stilted; the interactions and events are described with flowery language, yet without enough detail to actually understand the mechanics. Especially since there are sci-fi/fantasy elements. Its seeming kind of rudimentary
The boy had been with his cousins in the yard—they were playing in Spanish, calling him a name and laughing because he didn’t know what it meant. His mother burst outside with a horrified expression on her face. She shouted something at his cousins, pulled him inside the house, then soon after shoved him into their car. It was long ago, after returning from a Thanksgiving with his mother’s family. His mother was arguing with her sister over the phone. His father was raging, yelling that in his house, he would understand every word spoken, and that they would never go over there again. The boy
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Why would Katrina's own flashback misgender her?
Furthermore, this girl had actually tried to challenge her? To save her? Which of her previous students would have dared? Which of them would have tried?
What are they talking about though? Did Katrina know what memory would come to each of them? Or is it the template of the type of memory and knew something horrible was on the horizon? Everything is so vague that i dont really know whats happening
“People look at these hands, and they immediately know. That I am really a boy.”
But… you're not really a boy, you're a girl. Im finding myself struggling with the discourse around transness in the book and from a trans author. Her experience is valid and perhaps, probably, informed Katrina's character & experience. But there is sooooo much self doubt and hatred that tends to reflect reality fraught with trauma at the hands of the patriarchy. And these stories have a place in representation, but having the lived experience… I'm just so over it
There was a guy, a little older than Katrina. He was kind of cute, but something about him made her uneasy.
Markus almost killing that couple in the donut shop… is he a psycho
Shirley. “This permits the projections to interact with the physical world as if real. So be careful not to scratch your violin on your, um, armor.”
Now THIS is the world building i want
Tremon Philippe had been assigned to the world of classical music for over two centuries. Music had always been one of Hell’s most prudent investments, and Tremon took a workmanlike joy in delivering a steady dividend of crushed dreams, bitterness, and, above all, souls. Which was not to say that the occasional surprise was unwelcome—provided it was beneficial to Hell, of course. Shizuka Satomi had been such a surprise. Most humans in her position would want to fulfill their contracts quickly, with little regard for quality. There would be stupid souls, shallow souls, tasteless souls that
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Best excerpt yet
“It’s not boiled.” “What?” Katrina motioned to the server, who took her order, bowed, and disappeared. “The chicken. It’s poached.” “Shizuka, your student. How is she
Katrina isnt there though. Theres been a lot of mistakes that have slipped through editing
Lucy examined one of the ribs from the Chinese violin. The grain was almost perfectly parallel, which made it strong enough to shave just a little more. “There, doesn’t that feel better?” The rib seemed to dance in her hand. “Now we need to work on your twin,” she said. She picked up
Why is it taking her over a month to fix this violin?
And no one said they must belong to a son. Lucy closed her computer. Rest came easily to her eyes.
If trauma isnt serving a purpose, its erving voyeurism
“Great Filter”
In the dev. of life from earliest stages of abiogenesis to reaching the highest levels of dev. on the Kardashev scale, there is a barrier to development that makes detectable extraterrestrial life exceedingly rare. Its one possible resolution to the Fermi Paradox
“Fermi Paradox,”
Discrepancy between the lack of conclusive evidence of advanced extraterrestrial life and the apparently high likelihood of its existence
Yet, instead of rushing to explore these theories, rather than discussing the speed of light, mortality, or entropy, their most popular communications were about film stars, religion, dating applications, games, and all matters of pornography.
Its because were all addicted to some form of distraction from thoughts of whts beyond ourselves
From her tone, Shizuka realized that this would be their last Saturday afternoon.
The Endplague? Lan mentioned it often, yet it was the one thing she never explained. It was probably quite important, but it was nothing Shizuka would ever know about. Her time with Lan was over.
Which seems like an out not to explain it to us
